


Respect

by dormiensa



Category: House of Cards Trilogy (UK), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Playing Hooky, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, a quiet moment, mentions of Anthea/Andrea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormiensa/pseuds/dormiensa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes pays his respects to a remarkable man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SStar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SStar/gifts).



> Inspired by SStar's hilarious [The trials and tribulations of the British Government](http://archiveofourown.org/series/87430) series.

Mycroft never enjoyed the mandatory annual performance reviews. The politicians with whom he had to meet this year were especially aggravating. If Andrea were as incompetent as this lot and had not intervened in her usual timely fashion, he would have fired the Defence Minister on the spot—hang the consequences. 

Having seen the last of the lot for another year and been mildly revived by the excellent tea, Mycroft decided he could not stand to be in his office another minute. He texted Andrea that he should not be disturbed unless there was “an international crisis that threatens the end of all civilization as we (disapprovingly) know it” and notified his driver of his desire to leave.

His driver was too well-trained to show surprise at the requested destination. As they weaved through traffic, Mycroft was amused to see the sun peeking through the clouds. At the florist shop, he mulled over the selection. The usual “gratitude” or should he upgrade to “admiration”? Thinking back on the past two weeks of gruelling sessions, he chose the latter and directed the assistant to wrap the flowers in the cream paper, to better show off their pale lavender colour. 

Arriving at the quiet cemetery, Mycroft insisted that his driver and his bodyguard remain with the car and enjoy their coffees. He made his leisurely way through the maze of headstones, statuary, and other grave markers. Locating the desired gravestone, Mycroft sighed as he read the plain inscription. Lord Francis had only been sixty-six years of age when he died. Mycroft had only slight acquaintance with the former PM, but he remembered how superior his lordship had been to his peers. Mycroft was only junior staff in Her Majesty’s Treasury when Lord Francis was in office, but he had seen how deftly his lordship manipulated others and held onto the reins of power, with no one any the wiser. After Mycroft was allowed by the committee to be present at the annual performance review of the former Prime Minister, his respect for his lordship had increased several-fold: this man truly understood the nature of power and how far his own influence went. The politeness—almost deference—he showed was remarkable. In the privacy of one of his masters’ office, Mycroft had been encouraged to give his observations of the Right Honourable Francis Urquhart, MP. His master had been very pleased with his response and had made a point to introduce him to the PM at the next function. Mycroft would learn much later that Lord Francis had been one of the supporters behind his early promotion and always suspected that his lordship was influential in the abolishment of the committee, making its role one of his current responsibilities.

Mycroft sighed. One of his few regrets in life was that he’d never had the privilege of having a one-to-one performance session with Lord Francis. Granted, his lordship’s policies were not always in line with Mycroft’s, but at least he was competent, a word Mycroft rarely used to describe anyone.

Sherlock, of course, had finally earned that label. His methods were still erratic, and he still left messes that he expected Mycroft to tidy, but his slow and systematic dismantling of Moriarty’s network was almost as efficient and thorough as could be expected without Mycroft heading the operations. He also kept Mycroft entertained with his periodic tweets to update on his progress or to require help. Mycroft smiled. Her Majesty’s elected government would be apoplectic if they ever decoded the tweets between “Red Rosencrantz” and “Gold Guildenstern”, for the breach to international security was quite catastrophic. The Quartermaster of MI-6, especially, would sulk for days if he discovered a code that rivalled his own. 

Mycroft nodded to the gravestone and headed back to the car. It was still early. Perhaps he should tweet the current PM’s evaluation report to Sherlock. His brother always made such hilariously caustic remarks about the hapless man.

**Author's Note:**

> The flowers in question are purple heather. :) 
> 
> This bit of headcanon resulted from watching House of Cards (UK) and wondering what would happen if Francis Urquhart and Mycroft Holmes ever crossed paths.


End file.
